Disdain, Polluted
by onyx-bear
Summary: Loki, imprisoned after New York, was nowhere to be found on the day of his trial. He is missing from his prison cell, and Thor has gathered the Avengers to find and incapacitate him from taking any other worlds. It seems he has escaped of his own volition, but his being missing is Thanos' doing. Lots of Loki whump (rape, torture, humiliation, ED, self-harm). Be warned.
1. Prologue

The golden Æsir guards dragged the dark being by the arms towards the throne of Odin, which was capped by the regality of a liar and flanked by an equally deceitful wraith-mother who acted as though she loved him so dearly... Thor led the procession as if it were almost a funeral, his face downcast in some mix of shame and regret. A sly smile and threads of menace wisped across Loki's face as he was led down the familiar Asgardian halls. They have ceased to bring him any comfort; the last strings of faux-familial affection had fallen from this place and he regarded it now as if it intentionally bore into his gut. It raked him of his usual defenses, and his expression faltered occasionally to reveal a secret dread.

The regal Odin, who had so cleverly masked his intention of using the monster-child with "love" and father-figure-esque behavior, peered down at Loki from atop his self-righteously royal position. A chilling silence struck the fallen prince deep in the chest as Thor and he - aided by guards, albeit - finished approaching the stairs that led to Odin and Frigga's feet. Thor moved away from the fore of the procession, knowing his opinions on what should become of Loki would be regarded as clouded by hope and love for the one he calls brother. The wraith-mother queen's eyes were glazed over and her brows furrowed upwards, her left wondering where the beautiful child had disappeared to, and how he could have been replaced by this creature full of violence and spite. Her lips were clamped shut in the same manner that Thor was bereft to move from the defense of his faux-sibling. Odin sneered, fitfully and opened his mouth to speak, condemn.

"Until enough objectivity towards your crimes can be mustered by the Court and I, Loki _Laufeyson_, you will be imprisoned. When such a time comes, you shall be tried and punished for your violations of morality." Plucking his damning eyes from the prisoner, Odin faced the guards and commanded, "Take him."

Before Loki had a chance to form a retort, he was yanked around by the two guards that held his arms and more than overtly elbowed in the ribs by the golden guard on his right. Several other guards drew in to the front and behind the three, leading and following towards the dungeons.

* * *

Thor sat dejectedly in his chambers. He would not be permitted to participate in Council today, as Odin had forbidden it. The prince - heir to the throne - allegedly was unable to provide _sound_ counsel while deciding upon punishment for the 'wretch'. Apparently, Frigga had enough mercy and wisdom in objectivity to account for his absence today. His gut churned at the thought of Loki at the whim of the unforgiving Council... after his brother's true heritage had been revealed, the court had justification for their irrational hatred. His adept mastery of the use of daggers and magic seemed a far too 'feminine' pursuit; his adoration of books in favor of sparring and weaponry was condemned since they were children.

Thor grimace at the past and how smoothly the court's obvious and harsh disdain for his brother had merely shifted in their reasons for it. _Couldn't they see how they have hurt him so?_

An abrupt rapping on his chamber door interrupted his painful retrospection. A muffled, but clearly distressed "Your highness, there are urgent matters to discuss" caused Thor to jump from his sitting position and open the door. A messenger stood, nerves wrecked, outside his chambers, peering up at the mightily built prince's visage.

"Prince, the prisoner Loki Laufeyson has escaped!" wrenched itself from the prisoner's lips.

At this news, Thor dressed himself in his armor and cape, then hefted Mjölgnir, with long and purposeful strides, to the throne of Odin for further clarification.

* * *

Upon arrival, and seeing Odin's facial expression as worried as it was, Thor boomed across the throne room, "Father, what is the meaning of this?"

Odin turned his face upwards to the impending arrival of his son. "Loki has escaped. He could not have been left further than a day before his trial was meant to be held. You must locate him, using whatever means you deem necessary, and bring him back here for... a slightly _harsher_ sentence."

Thor did not argue as he wished, simply because he knew that finding his brother was crucial to the protection of Asgard and the other realms. He set off in search of finding his favorite universe-gazer.

* * *

In the wee hours of the night, when sleep evaded him - a usual occurrence for the small amount of genius, occasionally alloy-clad inventors of the world - Tony Stark would usually be in his basement-turned-workshop, tinkering with something generally useful as to occupy his mind and lull it into a more relaxed state. After the incident there, in New York, Stark Tower reminded him a little too much of alien warfare and gods from other planets, so sleep evaded him even more often.

_Usually_, the tightness in his chest, that either kept him from sleep's sweet embrace or yanked him from some dream of inner turmoil and more warfare, would drag him downstairs to his lab. _Usually_ the tightness of his chest was the thing that _actually _awoke him. But tonight, it was not the anxiety that stirred him from his sleep and dragged him around his skyscraper, but a disturbingly boisterous sound that came from the balcony outside his room.

Tony awoke with a start at some vaporized-sounding sound and flung himself over the side of the bed as to avoid the most contact with the thing that made the horribly familiar-sounding sound. He cautiously rose from the floor behind his bed and peered above the mattress. His balcony door handles began to jiggle, and he whispered,

"_Jarvis!_ Why didn't you alert me to the detected threat?"

"Because, sir," the system said a little too loudly for Tony's comfort, "There is no threat. The Æsir prince has been registered by you as a non-threatening entity. Balcony doors have been unlocked to permit entry for authorized persons."

Tony lay his torso back down on the bedside floor in a fit of resignation. His balcony doors were suddenly thrust open as Thor realized that they opened to the _inside_ of the room, and the god gave a boisterous, "Hello, Man of Iron! I have difficult news." Tony groaned.

The unwelcome, but too frighteningly powerful guest to deny continued, "Loki has escaped Asgard's prisons! We must awaken our friends and prepare to find him!"

"Now? This couldn't have waited until morning?" Mostly rhetorical, but the giant, golden man confirmed with a terse head shake. "Jarvis, wake up the rest of the team members. Alert SHIELD." He muttered beneath his breath, "fucking robbing me of my sleep like Bonnie or some shit..."

* * *

The Avengers crouched, sat, and stood around the coffee table in the living room nearest to their bedrooms. It was convenient, because of middle-of-the-night situations like this - in which Norse gods plopped in with urgent requests on a whim - that the team had liked the extra security provided by all living in Stark Tower. The rest of the team turned to face Steve as he piped up, all too tired to come up with anything intelligent to say to the news of Loki's escape.

"Thor, where are we headed?"

"Back to Asgard, where we will seek the counsel of Heimdall in order to find Loki."

"Can we all get dressed first?" inquired Natasha, still clad in her pajamas.

"By all means, armor up and prepare for battle!"

* * *

The clock read 5:43 a.m. by the time everyone had geared up and gathered with Thor back on Tony's balcony. "Gather close to me," commanded Thor calmly. As everyone formed a loose circle around Thor, Tony grumbled, "Beam me up, Scottie," which earned him a smirk from Clint and a confused look from Steve, who stood in front of him.

Thor bristled. "Heimdall," he stated firmly, raising an arm.


	2. Bits

"Heimdall, can you see Loki?"

The team was gathered along the end of the Bifröst, which connected the nine realms and allowed Heimdall's eyes unfiltered access to the universe. Still tired, everyone but Thor peered around as though checking to be sure that this event was, in fact, not a dream. Or a nightmare for that matter.

"My vision of Loki himself is blurred, but I am able to see _where_ he is," the seer responded. "I am able to transport you there, _but_ know that you will have limited access to the environment. Someone tampers with the threads of space and time, in the area that he is, and you will not be bodily able to interact with his environment unless granted access by the being in responsible for the disruption. Proceed with caution."

"Loki can do that?" Bruce turned to Thor and Thor to him, meeting his inquiry with a worried expression. "No, Banner, he is not capable of such a feat. I only know of one who is, but he has not been seen or heard from in millennia, at least not by the Æsir."

Thor turned away, frowning. "Had Loki wanted to be found, he would have broadcasted his location to Heimdall. If he had wanted to disappear, he would have blocked his signal completely. I do not like this."

Natasha furrowed her brows. "What would this... entity want with Loki?"

"I know not, my warrior friend. But if my suspicions are correct, it means that Loki didn't escape himself, but was _taken_ by the being called Thanos. Thanos would then have had access to Asgard..." Thor gave a visible shiver, then straightened up, looking back to the master assassin for her opinion.

"This... Thanos... is showing where to find Loki. He wants him to be claimed back, if it is true that he took him." She stared incredulously at nothing as she thought, then continued, "Allowing us to come to him may not guarantee safety for us, but he isn't invading as it seems he could, so... Let's go fetch that son of a bitch brother of yours."

"Heimdall, take us to him."

The team disappeared in a stream of iridescence.

* * *

A terror gripped each member of the group as they "landed" in a seemingly endless abyss of warped stars and forsaken, barren rock that was simultaneously there, beneath their feet, and wholly absent. "Stay close," one of them said, and no one moved. Each of the team members could feel, even _hear_ their hearts thrumming painfully in the hollows of their chests.

The stars around them disappeared slightly as gleaming, obsidian-black walls became more opaque and corroded their images. A hollow echo of a terrible voice resounded, above heartbeats, across some the space they occupied, as if they were all standing in a cavern.

"I see you have come for the _filth_."

Each person on this plane could feel themselves shrink in the presence of the vile voice. It was as deep as a trench in an ocean and grated each of them, down to their bones, where it sat, cold and cruel. An image of an immense stone throne began to appear before them, in the distance, and it donned on each Avenger that they stood in what appeared to be a throne room, a vast and empty expanse of a feeling that carved out their very resolve to even stand. Great and scraggly stairs led upwards to the great seat, empty, now, and also a heap of something at the throne's foot. The voice rattled them once again, making the team simultaneously flinch into a slight crouch, a sad and instinctual attempt to escape its menace.

"Take him. He is no longer of any amusement to me or my companions. He may _even_ be of use to you."

A sickening tension, a pause.

"Filth," the voice said again. "Your _friends_ are here to help you. Do you not wish to thank them?" It was simply not a question, but a sickeningly sweet command behind the asking - so wrong, disturbing.

The heap moved, weakly, in an attempt to use arms to push itself up. It was covered in blood, trembling, its black hair matted. "Loki!" Thor wrenched the syllables from his throat once he realized that _this_, this bloody heap, was his brother. He stormed up the stairs, the rest of them team frozen and wide-eyed at the mess atop the stairs, chained by the neck to the massive amount of stone that served as a seat for _something_. They were too shocked at the image before them to even think anything but to slowly trace Thor's path forward in fear and morbid fascination.

As they approached, the sight before them caused their stomachs to drop. Loki was attempting to drag his tongue across Thor's boots, and the golden Æsir, in return, gripped the dark one's shoulders and asked, brokenly, "Brother, what are you doing?"

Loki, with deep and hideous gashes along the entirety of his nude and emaciated form, let an excruciating wail escape his lips and slumped in Thor's hands, violently quaking. A low mumbling fell from his mouth in desperation, haunting and crushed.

"I do what is good what is required of me you must punish me I could not do what you asked of me I am sorry I am sorry, sorry... _please_ I am below, below...h...deserved..."

He continued to tremble.

"Brother, we must leave."

A low groan racked his body in the dim light of the space they were in, and the voice appeared again in the form of low, unceremonious laughter that held no humor, only a constriction of their very existences. The team's flesh crawled. Loki whimpered.

Thor stood, gripping Mjölgnir, and brought the hammer downwards on the chain that held Loki to the chair. On contact, a flash forced eyelids closed and a terrific force flung the group from their places on this maddening plane.

* * *

Rain coaxed Thor from sleep. It was a sun shower, a warm glow streaming powerfully through grey, somewhat translucent clouds as light drops of water landed on the bodies of the team and of their new rescue.

Natasha was beginning to stir and Clint was awake already, the rest of the team laying unconscious on the Bifröst scorch mark that Thor had left earlier on the balcony. _Midgard? Where is Heimdall?_ Clint was sitting against a railing of the rather large balcony that led into Tony's room, staring, unknowing of what should be done, at the bloody mess of a god that lay at his feet. Upon closer inspection, Loki's body looked horrific.

Thor's face burned hot just looking at it. His skin had been flayed open, with very few patches left unmarked by... a whip, or something else. Bruises littered Loki's bony frame, skin thin and scarred. His bones jutted from his frame, muscles atrophied so that his form was almost unrecognizable. Both dried and fresh blood lay caked across wounds, some seeping slowly from re-opened slits. The collar around his neck had worn the skin there raw. Random spots on his body were burned so badly that what remained of the skin was a dark red char. Though angered and saddened by the state of his brother, Thor did not feel fury burn his insides until he saw the massive purple bruises on the insides and backs of his brother's thighs.

He rose suddenly and walked to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing with force enough to bend it downwards. The golden prince's knuckles turned white. He opened his lips and an anguished cry crawled from his throat, then flew from his lungs entirely. Those sleeping were startled awake and Thor collapsed on the ground, stunned still at his own fury.

"What's happened?" Steve blinked, bewildered. His eyes fell to the dark brother and his stomach threatened to empty itself right there. The soldier's body twisted, flipped over and he wretched, but he hadn't eaten breakfast, so nothing came up. Tony, seeing the situation, rose quickly end fled into his room, telling Jarvis to remove his armor and letting it fall to the ground there, then disappeared behind the door to his bathroom. No light shined from beneath the cracks of the door.

* * *

Loki awoke atop a too white bed in a too white room. The collar was gone away from his neck and replaced with a metal tube stuck in the vein of his left arm. He began shaking, trapped by the thing. Was this another of Thanos' illusions? Too many times had he been thrust into a different places...

His too bony hands shook as he raised them to look at them. His palms were the only uncut part of his body, though there were small burn scars and large sections of discoloration that marked his pale skin. His heart rate rose until it was painfully quick against his bones and lungs, machines near his head beeping loudly... His breaths caught in his chest, and he began rocking as much as he could to dull the sensation of breathlessness. His eyes, red-rimmed, fought to close against the harsh lighting of the room while he forced them open to be aware of what was happening in this too-white cell. Small, frail drops flitted from the corners of his eyes and traced their way down his face then into his hair.

Panting, Loki let short, quick groans leave his throat. His vision blurred and...

_Filth. How were you ever fooled into thinking you were worth anything in the eyes of any-_

He was desperately scratching at the bandages on his forearms, convulsing, and openly screaming by the time that Bruce arrived in the medical wing of Stark Tower.

"Loki! Loki!" Bruce did his best to gently grab hold of Loki's wrists to keep him from re-opening wounds, then turned him on his side to keep him from asphyxiating during this seizure. A nurse rushed in with several syringes, one of which Bruce grabbed and injected into Loki's shoulder. The seizing continued for a short moment, and dissolved into a slow tremor.

Loki blinked several times, scrunched his eyelids together, and gasped out a fair amount of air. The pale, haunted being used his palms to scope out what was in front of him, squinting, as if to confirm that he was where he was and that his environment had not changed during his fit.

"The light," he wheezed, using a swat to gesture or bat at nothing. Bruce responded promptly by going to the wall to dim the lights considerably.

"Are you very hungry?" asked Bruce, concerned. He peered into the placid face of the deranged murderer he had encountered several months back in this very city. Loki avoided making eye contact and instead chose to look at Bruce's shoes.

The former prince's breathing became labored. He nodded reluctantly, nostrils flaring. Bruce nodded at the nurse and she nodded back, leaving the room promptly to get broth.

"How are you feeling?" Banner asked. Loki closed his eyes and shook his head tersely. He opened them back up to stare at hardly anything but Bruce's eyes. The hero-gone-doctor walked to the corner of the not-as-white room to retrieve a chair from there. He placed it by Loki's bedside.

"You've been unconscious for a week," he matter-of-factly informed the god in the bed. "Do you want to talk to me about anything?" Another terse shake of a head. "If you ever do, or if you ever need anything else, you can press this button," gestured to a yellow button by the bedside, hooked up to one of the machines by several wires, "and... your soup should be here soon." Bruce nodded.

"Where is Thor?"

"He's off discussing matters with your fath-"

"_Not_ my father!"

"...with Odin... it was unsafe to move you across realms, we decided, so... you're stuck here for now."

At this, the nurse reappeared in the room with a tray, which held a slightly steaming bowl of soup, napkins, and a spoon.

"Need help sitting up?"

"No!" Loki snapped. Realizing he just shouted at Bruce, he jerked and his fingers began twitching. Utterings of half-sentence apologies, 'sorry, sorry, please,' slipped from the god's lips as he stared at nothing again and began rocking.

Bruce reached a hand out to brush the shoulder of the god in a partial fit, who crumpled away from his touch.

"Loki, Loki, you are safe now. You don't need to worry. Loki!" Bruce whispered feverishly. Loki snapped his body away from his shakes and life returned to his eyes as his facial expression sealed over into a forced non-feeling.

With a grimace, Loki slowly lifted his torso away from the mattress, then scooted to rest his lower back against the pillows there. Once he was settled, Banner swung the table-esque board down and in front of the smoldering Jötunn. The nurse, now almost as pale as Loki, set the tray down on the table - which was attached to the bed - and barely kept herself from fleeing the room.

Bruce had sat back down in his chair by now, and prompted Loki to eat with a slow nod towards the food, careful not to look at his excitable patient directly in the eye. Loki took in a quick, shallow breath before looking directly at the food. His inhale was caught in his throat. Carefully, he reached for the spoon and lifted it into the chicken broth. His hand shook as he brought the spoonful up to his face.

Something shifted in Loki's expression. Pain darted across his face and he threw the tray, contents and all across the room in a rage. He started to wail and ripped the IV from his arm and shoved the bed table away from his body, breaking some of its hinges in the process. He tore the sheets away and threw himself to the floor beside his bed. Bruce had risen and quickly made his way across the room, around the bed, to try to see what was going on with the lie smith.

Loki was huddled against the wall of the room, screams betwixt sobs that racked his body. He began slamming his clenched fists against the ground and Bruce, again, leaned over the pile of tortured flesh and grabbed at his wrists to restrain him. Loki slumped and quieted down as Banner made contact.

"What's wrong, Loki? Did something happen?"

A slow head shake. Quiet sobs shook him. He yanked his hands away from the doctor and pushed himself upwards. Bruce backed away, a little more lost than he'd ever expected to be.

Still sobbing, Loki hefted himself atop the mattress once more and yanked sheets and blankets atop his quivering form. From beneath the sheets, still shaking visibly, the dark prince spat, "_Leave_!"

Bruce hurried out of the room. Psychology was not his area of expertise.

* * *

Thor returned that evening, looking more concerned than ever.

"How is my brother?" he asked Banner after coming in the kitchen. The team, excluding Thor, sat at a large table, Thor's usual place setting empty. Steve rose to get Thor a portion of the spaghetti meal they were having.

"He woke up today. he had a massive fit - well, several of them, each a different type, epileptic, partial, psychotic..." he cleared his throat. "Erm, anyway, he's not looking so good. All of us agree, there's no way that Loki could have sustained that much physical and psychological damage in a day." Bruce swallowed and pursed his lips then opened them again. "The scarring, um, it's very... some of the scars are very old. His most recent bone breaks look like they were from three years ago, and I can't tell how old the oldest ones are... old. He's had a lot of bones broken and re-broken and some-"

"Can we save the sick diagnoses for _after_ dinner?" Tony shouted. "I'm about to go postal on this food, as in, it's gonna go lost boys in Neverland on me, never to be seen again, or whatever, just _stop_. _talking._"

Bruce nodded, his expression darkening. Steve arrived with Thor's serving of spaghetti and meatballs and placed it, all to carefully, on the table with water and a fork. Thor sat down and picked up his eating utensil, then began shoveling the food into his mouth.

"The All-father has said that Loki may stay here while healing. Under the circumstances, I have a feeling that Father cannot face my brother in a way that would keep him from further harm."

Clint looked conflicted. He hesitantly opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"I hate Loki, given that he took control of my brain, stabbed Coulson, and practically destroyed Manhattan, sure. My instinct is to say that he deserved what he got. But that just feels... so _wrong_."

Natasha, reflectively gazing down at the table, swallowed the mouthful she'd been chewing. Steve nodded meekly and Tony raised his eyebrows at his plate. Bruce stared at Thor, who continued to look more and more worried.

For the rest of the meal, the team was silent.


	3. Affirmation

Light was being cast along the dark floor of the hall, the stream of it then interrupted by two men's shadows and stepped on by the two men's feet. Thor strode, bowl of soup and soup-soaked bread in hand, from the kitchen into the dim corridor with Bruce. He was taking slightly larger steps than the doctor due to a rift in height, the rustle of his cape falling in time with his steps. Thor did not even know where he was going, but he was sure as hell determined to get there faster than Bruce.

Bruce was, to say the least, struggling to keep up.

"What of my brother, Banner?" Thor turned his head back to face the shorter man (who just happened to bodily house a much taller, broader beast) and slowed his pace a bit.

"Loki is healing quickly, but... he refused food the first time I tried to give it to him, and very violently at that. He also has a myriad of very old and strange injuries."

"Well, yes, we have been on the battlefield often."

"These could not possibly be battle injuries." A small pause to collect thoughts, foot falls interrupting smooth trains of thought. "The scars have very, _very_ different patterns to them - different from his battle scars, which are obvious - and lie all _over _his body. For example... you wouldn't happen to know of anyone who uses something like a whip with... serrated ends as a weapon, would you?"

The thunderer's face reddened as he turned it forward, away from Banner, a refreshed and pressing determination to locate Loki plastered on his face. The scowl, most apparent in his drawn brow and tightly pulled lips, deepened as Thor drove forward down the hallway. Banner followed.

The god continued onward, then abruptly halted in the middle of the hallway. The bespectacled [temporary] physician nearly bumped into the massive back that blocked range of motion.

"Banner, which room is my brother in?"

"It's on the twenty-first floor... room 2118. It would be best if-"

"Thank you, good friend. I shall see about the damage done to Loki myself."

Storming towards the elevator, Thor left Bruce standing, staring awkwardly, in the middle of the half-lit hall.

* * *

Hearing footsteps - heavy, rushed, distinctive - the trickster god inhaled deeply, as deeply as was possible without cracking wounds open. Squinted eyes shut, furrowed brows, thinned lips. He let the tension fall from his body with a labored sigh.

Resignedly, he let his gentle eyelids fall open when the footfalls stopped in the doorway. The vaguely familiar scent of worn leather and sizzling air filled his nostrils. The usual sunshine was absent from the smell.

"Brother," said the forlorn voice.

"Thor," replied the former prince, bedded in white linen and upset.

The thunderer approached hesitantly, feet placed delicately on the floor of the room, which was nearly devoid of light. He placed the bowl on a table, away from the bed, and knelt at Loki's back.

"What has happened to you, brother?"

A sharp inhale.

Loki's voice croaked as he uttered, "I see that time has not passed as I thought it had."

"What do you speak of? Your words puzzle me."

"I was with Thanos and the chitauri for near a century. How much time has gone since my being taken from the dungeons on Asgard?"

Thor's nostrils flared, eyes downcast. "A day, brother. A day."

The younger clenched his fists in the bedding.

"Loki, you must eat. You look famished." Thor rose from the floor.

A slow nod from the one in the bed. He lifted himself gingerly onto pillows that Thor propped up after he had lifted his head from them. Loki laid his back against them, careful to place himself in a position that would threaten the least of his wounds with contact from the mattress. He looked up, past the thunder god, as if he wanted to communicate as he once had with the golden one, but couldn't. Thor understood, despite Loki's silence, and turned to grab the bowl from the desk he'd placed it on.

He extended the bowl out towards Loki, who lifted his hand to accept it. The dark prince dropped his hand, now joining the other in forming fists, into his lap. He began to choke on leaden breaths, then, worn, brought his hands up to his face. A sob cracked the silence between them. Thor quickly placed the bowl back upon the desk, kneeling again by Loki's bedside. His brows folded upwards in confusion and grief.

"Why will you not eat? You need sustenance, brother!"

Between tremors of emotion, Loki squeezed out in a hush, "..._can't_, cannot, I don't want to eat... that, it... p- poison, it _ruins _me, ruins, ruins..." He continued to hide his face. His reasoning stayed shadowed as well.

Thor nudged the frail thigh on the bed with the back of his hand. "We could share it. I will show you the food will not harm you."

Loki, wiping his face with his palms and delicate fingers, returned to stoicism and nodded slowly, slightly. Thor stood, pinched the bowl from the table, and motioned his hand towards the bed. Silver-tongue acquiesced. Thor sat on the edge of it. He raised the broth to his lips and sipped at it, feeling Loki's shifty eyes settle on observing him. He swallowed easily.

"See, Loki, it is not harmful!"

Loki took the bowl, incredulous. He grasped at a bit of the bread, surface above the broth, and shakily brought it out of the bowl. He watched it drip broth a but before his trembling hand guided the soggy thing to his lips.

He took a bite.

Silent, fat tears glided down his cheeks and dripped off of his chin, one by one, as he chewed the bread. He finished chewing and opened his mouth for another little bite, then paused, still not looking his faux-brother directly in the eyes.

"Thank you."

He took the second bite, then swallowed a mouthful of broth that he had sipped from the rim of the bowl. The fallen prince shifted in the bed and finished off the piece of bread in the third bite, this one harder to chew because it had been sitting mostly outside the broth. He looked down at the bowl again, two bits of bread left bathing in the too-rich tasting, but diminished liquid. He shoved the bowl back at Thor, turning away from them as though they were offending. His right arm came upwards to cover his mouth. The gesture reeked of shame. Whispers flew desperately from his throat again.

"Why did I... shouldn't ha- need... stop, _stop_, none... noth- _filth_..."

Loki turned on his side again, jerked, and ripped the coverings over his body to form a sad cocoon (never a chrysalis). The bedding was pulled up to his chin, his head buried in the pillows. His rail-thin form shook at the degradation of nourishment.

"Thor, I need... to rest. Please just go."

The golden one's muscles rippled as he lifted himself from the edge of the mattress, holding the bowl and its sorrow-laden contents. He nodded and turned to leave. On his way out, he paused, breath letting slip a "Please rest well, my little brother," and continued out and down the hallway.

Loki gripped the pillow below his head tightly to suppress rawness.

* * *

A week later, a haze had fallen over the living room (nearest to the bedroom of each team member, of course). Bruce repeated what he had said earlier to the team as to hopefully render comprehension.

"Loki is now healed substantially enough to be out of his bed. It would impede proper healing - in all areas - for him to stay cooped up in that room."

"What if he tries something?" Clint demanded.

"We can take rounds being with him while he's awake, and he'll be monitored by Jarvis during the night. If he becomes a danger to anyone, Jarvis will promptly let us all know. Thor has agreed to stay with him the majority of the time for the rounds, but he's going to have to spend a few days in Asgard clearing up some of the misinformation about our... guest." Bruce nodded at Thor. The god nodded back. "He'll be eating with us before Thor has to leave tonight."

"_Really_? I'm gonna get real sick of his smarty pants self," Tony coughed.

"Have none of us been to visit him, aside from Banner and I? He is nigh at all the same as from the months ago when you first encountered him." Thor grimaced. "He needs someone to test his food for him, so when I am gone, be aware of this. He will not eat unless he knows for certain that his nourishment is safe. He also does not eat very much and he will _not_ eat if you try to force him."

Thor shook his head to dispel some memory.

Steve piped up. "I think I can speak for the rest of the team in saying that we'll be as _civil_ as we would expect someone to treat us." He made eye contact with the people scattered around their favorite coffee/informal meeting table, pausing a bit longer than the rest to fixate on Clint, who needed to keep this in mind more than most. Everyone nodded reluctantly, save for Thor, who vigorously agreed.

Clint rose readily and left the room.

* * *

Stark heard first the foot shuffling of Thor leading his most recently added 'guest' to the dining room they would all be gathered in soon. The team had met here before their friendly Norse god of the group went to fetch the convict-turned-victim (_sheesh_) of a brother of his. They had all gotten a plate of whatever it was they were having - a variety of foods would be better for Loki, as to not make his bowl of whatever soup and bread stand out so much - and had begun munching on their dishes already. This was meant to be casual. Casual was good. Far less awkward than waiting for Loki to arrive to start eating.

Thor sat Loki down next to himself and smiled warmly to the rest of the group. That stranger to the table still had a considerable limp and had to be helped around, for the most part. Tony looked across the table at Loki. So pitiful he looked, waiting for Thor to come back from the kitchen with a couple spoons in order to taste the soup for him.

Loki wasn't staring at anything. Not even the food. His vision sat affixed on the middle of the table, following the wood grain with small flicks of his pupils. He was then taken slightly by surprise by the golden hand that brushed his shoulder, and he flinched away from it involuntarily. He burned slightly scarlet, then returned to the false placidity he usually kept. Natasha, sitting next to Tony, nudged his thigh, a message to stop staring so blatantly.

Startled, Stark returned to his baked ziti. He just wanted Pepper to return from yet another company meeting in London.

Clint would have sat with Thor between Loki and himself, the mass of the Æsir and the sheer awkwardness of the angle required to even glance at Loki hopefully enough to keep the trickster out of view. He waited uncomfortably, the gap between him and the Jötunn positively Thor-less and particularly grating for the both of them. Barton felt his disdain for the little Norse shit grow in the pit of his stomach.

Thor placed himself gruffly in his intended seat then plopped Loki's bowl in front of him. He smiled, wistful, at his adopted sibling and dipped his spoon in the soup for the twentieth time that week. He would continue to do so, for as long as it took his brother to understand that this wasn't a cruel trick. It wasn't a ploy, it wasn't harmful...

The golden prince happily tested the food for Loki, though he certainly was not pleased at the reason the taste testing was necessary. He put a warm hand on his younger brother's cold wrist, inclining him to eat. _To eat in front of all these... onlookers_. Loki looked down into his food, training his voice towards Thor, who was carefully regarding him (the rest of the team was carefully _not_ regarding him) and who would be the only to hear.

"Is this all... real?" Sheepish. Hesitant.

Thor whispered back, "Yes, brother, you can eat it all."

"No. I mean _all_ of this," Loki gestured to the entire room, the entire building, the entirety of its contents, and the entirety of Midgard's physical plane.

Pitifully, the thunderer nodded. "All real; no tricks."

Loki nodded, letting a short flash of disturbance pass over his facial features. He carefully brought his spoon into the broth and then against his lips, just as how he had seen Thor do. He let his eyes train over the room, over each at the table, slyly. He kept sipping at his soup. Occasionally, at the doing of his frail hands, a bit of bread would rise to meet his dry lips.

"Knock, knock." Stark's blurt came as a surprise.

"Who's there?" responded Natasha, darkly, flatly. She was having none of his shit today. He never could deal with the silence. It was his daft mind, always spewing things up that he may not have been wanting to deal with.

"To," continued Stark.

"To... who?" jumped in Steve, smirking.

Loki put his spoon in his bowl. "To _whom_," he snapped, scowling.

"Look, he's catching on!" Stark bellowed.

No one could help their simpers.

Save Natasha.

* * *

"Thankfully, dinner went without incident," Bruce noted.

A retort from Barton: "Depends on your definition of incident."

Natasha smirked this time.

"So what's Blondie up to? Saying bye, bye, bunny, to his little brother?" Tony fell on one of the favorite living room's couches with a shot of scotch in his hand, which he downed quickly. He placed the glass on the coffee table. The ice clinked around in the glass.

Natasha's smirk fell straight off her face. "One of us will have to be with him until he decides to sleep." She blinked.

"I've got that covered for tonight," Bruce said with a nod to the rest. The tension left Clint's shoulders a little too obviously. It returned slightly when he realized that there would be more nights to take care of than just this. He'd have to 'baby-sit' the god at some point.

Clint stood suddenly and, with a slim "Good night," he passed through the living room door. On his way out, he halted frantically. Loki had been standing there, outside the door for some time, leaning on his good leg and wrapped in a dark blue blanket.

His mouth bobbed open, then shut, as if he were a fish gasping for water. His piercing irises shone from beneath his brow, settling in sharp contrast to the dark circles underneath his eyes. Clint was the first person he had looked in the eyes since being stolen away, like cargo, from the Asgardian prisons.

Realizing this, Loki turned away sharply to crumple in on himself and face the ground. His essence thinned out, more labored, and painful. Clint sneered and turned on his heel.

In a regrettable spurt of malice, Clint spat, "At least now you understand what it is to be _taken_ and _manipulated_."

He did not hear Loki's response. The Jötunn sank to the floor.

"But I _always_ have known such things." a faint hum of threaded words.

* * *

"Sir, Laufeyson rests outside of the door," Jarvis updated. All those still in the living room looked around at each other. Bruce heaved himself up towards the entrance. Everyone's stomachs dropped a little when they saw Loki, crouched in the dark behind the freshly opened door, blanket snaring his shoulders. Bruce extended a hand to Loki (non-feeling), who ignored the hand and pushed himself into the room.

Standing tall and proud, Loki trained the blanket from behind his back as if he were removing a cape that he needed not for such casual gatherings. He glided along to the least populated couch and draped himself over it. He surveyed the group, sitting very awkwardly before him, and let callous words fall from his lips.

"So what are we up to tonight?"


	4. Contortion

_A/N: okay, you cuties, I really want to apologize for taking so long with this. finals and the holidays were totally hectic for me! I also want to thank you so much for your follows, favorites and reviews! They make me über happy._

_So, I'll just continue along with my intense whump fic . . . _

_#the author regrets nothing #the author regrets everything_

* * *

"Anything planned?"

A crook in his neck, a flash in his eyes; the usual smirk had returned to his face. Loki peered around at the small congregation of practically-strangers.

Bruce slumped with a sigh across the couch from Loki, who seemed to greatly enjoy draping himself over the leather (how convenient the couch should be long). Tony stared ruefully at his tumbler, obviously wanting another high-alcohol-content drink. Natasha stared, from beneath a leaden brow, directly at Loki, who still was doing his best to avoid eye contact. Steve stared at nothing as he shifted awkwardly in his sitting position, doing his best to smile warmly. He looked just as wan as the rest of them.

Romanoff's glare had not gone unnoticed to the clad-in-black-and-blanket demigod. He leaned forward towards her, eyes narrowing. She was the second person he made eye contact with since his kidnapping.

"Lady Natasha, is this disdain I sense from you?"

She narrowed her eyes in response, a mirror for defense. "You have not thanked any one of us yet for rescuing you." She blinked and crossed her arms audaciously.

He spilled his limbs over the edge of the couch as he removed himself from his bearings, laying his forearms across his knees. He craned his body forward as his feet struck carpet.

"You'd like me to _thank_ you."

"We did do you a favor," Tony injected, scrutinizing his glass, which was rolling about in his hand once again.

The word struck him in the gut, and a slippery emotion flashed on Loki's face, eyes glazing over and lips twitching. He relaxed and pushed himself against the back of the couch. His good leg he swiped upwards to rest an ankle on the knee of the other. He had removed his eyes from anything tangible, refocusing them on other, less understood things.

"We could play a board game," offered Steve. Bruce nodded.

Loki, ever dramatic, let wonder flood his face. His brow creased, he asked, "What is a _board_ game?"

Steve blinked, trying to grasp at how he should describe the game.

Natasha's placid response came first: "It's a game you play on a colorful, folding piece of cardboard that has something to do with the game's methods or rules." Now that she had wiped the Loki-directed indignation from her face, her brows remained the only thing holding any semblance of emotion. Even the way she held herself, steady and squared, did not convey anything of her roiling insides.

Loki nodded. "I could deal with something as such."

Steve toddled over to the game cabinet towards the side of the room. Opening the cupboard doors, the first game he sees is Monopoly.

_Not particularly a good choice for a megalomaniac._

He scanned the rest of the game collection. Sorry (_no_)... Clue (_definitely not_)... Pictionary (_!_). Natasha had been wanting to play this for a while. Rogers grabbed the game box from under Clue and heard all of the pencils and paper striking around in the box.

"Is this good?" He held up the game box for everyone else to see.

Everyone substantiated his choice with parse nods.

Steve brought the game box over to the coffee table and plopped it in front of everyone. Natasha's eyes lit up slightly at the game's tangibility. As soon as Steve opened the box, though, Loki's scoff grew and he rose up off of the couch, looking slightly sick.

"I'll be heading to bed, thank you very much," he stated plainly, quietly. Bruce rose at this statement, then sat back down on the couch resignedly. Loki left through the same door he had been crouching behind, those left behind him in the living room sporting scrunched expressions.

Tony shrugged and started setting up his side of the coffee table to play.

* * *

Loki kept the lights off as he changed into long, baggy pajamas and crawled into bed. His hand resting on his thigh, he sighed thankfully. He couldn't feel his own skin. The knotted, ugly, patterned...

He shuddered silently until he fell asleep.

* * *

Tony nearly always passed through a bar area before sleeping when Pepper was gone from the tower. He was slightly surprised to find Clint in his favorite late-night drinking area, sitting with horrid posture and a tumbler of his own atop a bar stool.

"I feel like shit," Clint said as he heard Tony approach. "I can't even control my anger anymore. I've worked so hard all these years to keep it in check, but hey. We all fuck up sometimes."

Tony grunted in understanding as he filled his glass with another slosh of whiskey. Clint downed the last bit of gin he had in his.

"I mean, what am I supposed to do? This... madman is now living close to where I sleep. I don't want to look at him as anything other than some evil fucker," the archer slurred.

"Well, it justifies your anger and keeps you from feeling guilty," nodded Tony. He took a seat next to the archer.

Clint looked up at the drunkard, astonishment laying itself along the creases in his forehead. "Since when are you some therapist? Do you really think I needed you to tell me those things?"

"Actually, yes. You have trouble admitting things to yourself. I know I seem to have no fucking clue about what to do with people, but I notice a few things here and there." Tony's lips thinned.

"Are you drawing these observations from personal experiences?"

"You mean projecting? Well I'm total shit at _not_ projecting, so who actually even knows." Stark brought his hand to the back of his neck and started rolling out the knots in his muscles.

Clint raised his eyebrows, unknowing.

Lips sluggish, the inventor squinted slightly in thought. "Just look at him as an entirely different person from the one who mojo'd your mind."

Perturbed at the suggestion, Clint spat, "And how in _hell_ do you suppose I do that?"

"Well, he sure has undergone some drastic changes. Just try to keep in mind he kind of had the shit tortured out of him."

"I've _tried _that. I'm too angry at him."

"Then... try to understand his reasons for mind-fucking you in the first place."

A vastly pregnant pause as Clint considers this.

"Just _marvelous_. Now I have to talk to him."

"Well," Tony sighed, "you can't just ignore it all forever. You're kind of living together."

* * *

Natasha practically leapt from her bed as she heard Jarvis' voice echo around in her room.

"Miss Romanoff, Dr. Banner requests your presence in Loki's room."

_Shit._

"Which room?"

"Room 2118, miss."

Blinking the last wisps of sleepiness from her eyes, she threw her lithe form down hallways and into the elevator, then down more hallways. Arriving to his room in autopilot, what she saw and heard through the doorway shook her into alertness and dragged chills down her spine.

Bruce was holding Loki as he writhed on the floor, shallow inhales punctuated by sharp exhales, breaths tainted by gibberish whisperings. He was stripped down to his underwear, his thin frame covered in contusions that gushed red.

"Tasha! I don't know what's going on with him! Jarvis just woke me up and told me Loki was hitting and scratching himself!"

Natasha dove to the floor and grasped Loki's wrist firmly, checking the panicked trickster's pulse (_elevated_). His shifty eyes fixated on the ceiling and he gasped at the air above him.

Something shifted darkly within the man. His breath froze in his throat, his eyes widening at the space above them.

"Bruce, help me sit him up," she breathed calmly. As Bruce sealed both hands over Loki's side, Natasha placed hers oppositely and they propped him up. The distressed man began to quake violently, clenching and unclenching his fists. He kicked and flailed (prompting Natasha and Bruce to hold onto him with more fervor), spitting "I am _not_, I _AM NOT_, please..." repeatedly into the space before him. The assisting pair propped him up against the bed, Bruce looking to his red-haired friend for further instruction.

"Go get a drink of water and bandages for him please," Natasha said.

Crouching beside his legs, she began to run her fingers firmly and gently along the length of Loki's quaking upper arms, coaxing him to reality.

"Loki, Loki, you are safe, shh..." she cooed, "There is no one here who wants to harm you; you are safe, it's okay. Loki, it's okay."

Natasha continued her steady flow of comfort until, a few moments later, Loki pulled away from his disturbed trance and ceased his fit.

It was the third time he let himself make eye contact with anyone. He held Natasha's gaze for a moment, initial confusion settling into grave realization on his face. He lowered his eyes to his injuries, turning his palms up to check his fingernails and seeing his own blood and flesh beneath them. He brought his bloody fingertips up to his temple to massage a sigh from his lips. His chest rose and fell deeply and slowly.

"Bruce is bringing you water." Tasha rubbed at her tired eyes. "You scared us there."

Loki blinked and nodded curtly in response, still passively staring down at his wounds. Red covered his thighs, calves, stomach, and forearms. Lips pursed, Natasha collapsed beside him against the bed, mirroring his posture. Neither said anything while they waited for Bruce to return with bandages and water.

After Dr. Banner patched up Loki's scratches and handed him the glass, Natasha rose from the ground. She frowned at the blood that spattered the sheets and the floor, unhappy lines in her expression showing slightly.

"Let's get you a shower and into a different room," she soothed into the air. Bruce nodded in concurrence.

Loki said nothing.

* * *

They had ended up placing Loki into room 3012, just a floor below Bruce and four floors above the floor with the vast kitchen area and living room combo that everyone favored. His new floor featured an array of gold, cool brown, and black decorations, vases filled with exotic flowers, and minimalist paintings garnishing the walls. He'd still have a floor to himself, but he'd be closer to everyone. Isolation was no longer safe.

Natasha, who inhabited floor 33, met Loki on the elevator downwards into the team's favorite kitchen area. She smiled graciously as he entered the lift, inconspicuously eyeing his black ensemble (_black sweater, black trousers, black slippers, and black and black_). He smiled at her wanly as they pressed the button for 26.

As the elevator began to move the short distance to their eating area, Loki rocked back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back, brows drawn together, and mouth slightly open.

He turned to Natasha slightly. She raised her eyebrows.

"I'd like to thank you for helping me last night."

He then pursed his lips and the elevator stopped on floor 26. Before they disembarked, Romanoff nodded to him and murmured, "Anytime." The now silent pair entered a chic hallway, stocked with four elevators, which they walked down to find the kitchen with Tasha leading the way.

Steve was already in the kitchen, and probably had been for some time. He nodded and smiled a greeting to them while cutting into a waffle. After he finished chewing, he informed the two that he had made waffles for everyone and all they'd have to do was heat them up in the 'wonderful wave machine.'

"Thanks, Steve," Natasha replied, then turned to face Loki. "You want some? They're quite good." Loki nodded his confirmation and Tasha's scarlet rivulets bounced as she turned her head to face the massive stacks of waffles on the island. She grabbed two plates from behind the carbohydrate towers and handed one to Loki, then set to plopping three waffles onto it.

Loki eyed the waffles before, hesitantly, grabbing two of his own from atop the same stack that Natasha did. He watched her open and shut the door of a microwave after placing her food inside and punching a few beeping buttons. She pressed the 'pastry' button and stepped away from the contraption to lean against the counter.

Loki stepped close to the microwave below the one Romanoff was using - there were only two, as much as Tony insisted upon having four - and mimicked the process she had used to reheat her food. Moments later, Natasha's microwave beeped its 'food ready' alert, and Loki jumped and raised his hands at the high-pitched noise. Flustered, he glanced up at Natasha, who was badly hiding a smirk behind her hand. She was blatantly staring at Loki to see what he'd do next, her amusement reached up into her eyes.

Loki's microwave beeped, and before it had much of a chance to vocalize the food's readiness, he thrashed a lightning-quick hand onto the 'pause/end' button and rolled his fingers downward to press the door-opening mechanism. He snatched his warmed plate from the space inside the microwave and leered at Natasha, who was blatantly laughing at this point.

"What's all the funny business from over there about?" Steve piped from the table across the bar, hearing Tasha's chuckles.

"Oh, just Loki being very enthusiastic about waffles," she said from beneath a smile.

Loki just narrowed his eyes at her.

* * *

Tony entered the kitchen, heavy foot falls and squinting eyes betraying his hangover. Steve, Clint, and Bruce were already gathered around the table. He sat.

"Guess it's Tasha's day to watch Loki, isn't it?"

Bruce and Steve nodded. Clint just rubbed his nose.


End file.
